


Drive-In Saturday

by singagainsoon



Series: "The Things That Stay" 'verse [6]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Car Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, No Angst, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim (2013), Public Hand Jobs, Science Husbands, no pacific rim: uprising (2018) content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 12:26:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15096680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singagainsoon/pseuds/singagainsoon
Summary: Bored with their usual date spots, Newton decides to take Hermann on a trip to a drive-in movie. Unbeknownst to Hermann (although he has his suspicions), Newton has no intention of watching the movie.





	Drive-In Saturday

As soon as the movie begins, flickering to dramatic life on the screen, Newton opens the passenger side door and slides out of his seat. Hermann expects him to cross the lot to the concession stand and return with armfuls of snacks. (The promise of funnel cake is too good to bother admonishing Newton for not having the good sense to retrieve snacks  _ before _ the start of the film.) Instead, he climbs into the backseat. Hermann glances up at him through the rearview mirror to be greeted with a technicolor view of Newton’s ass in his far-too-tight skinny jeans. Newton is bent over the backseat, his t-shirt riding up just enough to give Hermann a sliver of colorful, inked skin to ogle between the hem of the shirt and the waistband of his pants.

Even so, he is perplexed.

“Newton, what is this?”

“It’s a drive-in, Herm,” he teases, sounding far away. Hermann rolls his eyes. “Can you-  _ ow _ . Fuck, that was my head. Can you get back here, or is it gonna hurt your leg?”

“Are we not here to watch the film? We came all this way. I should think it would be a waste not to-” Even as Hermann asks, he unbuckles his seatbelt and pulls open the door. Admittedly, even without the film, driving out to some remote location just to stargaze would have been a lovely way to spend their evening.

“Yeah, yeah we're gonna watch it still.”

Hermann eases himself into the backseat of the car, being mindful of his hip, beside Newton, who has taken the liberty of spreading two blankets across the length of the seat and propping some travel pillows against the closed door on the other side of him. Hermann’s face melts into a smile.

“This is lovely, darling. Dare I ask what the occasion is?”

Perhaps "lovely" was not the correct adjective, but it is sweet, and the sentiment is not lost on Hermann. Newt drapes his arm around Hermann’s stooped shoulders, pulling him into his side. “Who says there has to be an occasion to take my husband out on a date?”

“A date is one thing, but to go through all the trouble of keeping the destination from me until we arrived….” Hermann trails off, a teasing lilt coloring the end of his sentence, nudging Newton’s leg with the toe of his shoe.

“C'mon, you've been stressed out. _ I've _ been stressed out. With the way that new-hire orientation down at the planetarium went, you looked pretty beat when you got home yesterday- Oh, don’t give me that look. ‘Beat’ doesn’t automatically equate to, like, ‘ugly’. God, why am I even getting into this? Besides, we've been to like every restaurant in the neighborhood, and I wanted to do something special.”

  
  


* * *

 

Newton shifts beneath the blanket that covers them, turns in his seat to face Hermann. Hermann sees the movement, slight and quick, out of the corner of his eye, but he makes no move to investigate, keeping his eyes on the massive projection screen looming over the lot. Newton’s propensity to speak during movies has been a constant in Hermann’s life; he had seen this coming the moment they pulled into the lot and he shifted the car into  _ park _ .

“Hey, so - did you know that-” Newt says, whispering close enough to Hermann’s face that his breath tickles Hermann’s cheek. Hermann quirks an eyebrow and glances at him.

“Newton, why are you whispering?”

“-their eyepieces in this flash Morse code?”

“I  _ did _ know that, actually.”

Newt’s whisper drops an octave, not about to admit crushing defeat quite so easily, and Hermann is loath to admit that it is attractive, in its own strange, stirring way. “Well… did you know that the Morse code is the names of the people involved in production?”

Hermann pushes himself forward with a minimal amount of difficulty to shut Newton up with a kiss. His lips are soft, and Hermann is grateful that he does not taste of artificial butter flavoring or cloying cotton candy. Perhaps it is a blessing in disguise that Newton had not been heading for the concession stand earlier in the evening. “I know,” he mutters, smiling, when he pulls back. Newton’s quietly satisfied face is cast in a blue tint, illuminated by the film on the screen. Something mischievous rests in the shining centers of his eyes.

“Then did you know-"

“Newton, did you bring me here with the intention of watching the film, or not?” Hermann kisses him again before he can say anything more, pressing his hand against the back of Newton’s head and threading his fingers through his hair. Newton’s arms wrap comfortably around Hermann’s waist. The answer to Hermann’s rhetorical question is all too apparent in the fervor with which Newton reciprocates the kiss. Hermann bumps their noses together, suppresses a wry smirk when they separate. “You are just begging me to shut you up, aren’t you, Newton?”

Newton grins, eyes twinkling in the light from the larger-than-life film stretched in front of them, inviting Hermann to do just that.

Hermann dips his head to kiss Newton again, not missing the way that Newton’s hands tighten on the back of his shirt, the way he turns and folds his leg under him to be nearer to Hermann. This is precisely what Newton had been hoping to achieve, and Hermann is really more than glad to oblige him. Anyone could walk by, though, or look through the windows, spot their silhouettes pressed together from across the lot. There is something thrilling about this that makes Hermann regret missing out on it for so long. He shifts in his seat, cups Newton’s stubbly cheek with his hand and tilts his face. It is an uphill battle not to melt against the feeling of Newton’s mouth, the practiced ease with which he can reduce Hermann to a stammering mess.

Their Drift-forged neural link hums steadily, springs quietly to life in the hazy third space they had carved for themselves there, and buzzes through Hermann’s nerves like the feeling of having consumed  _ just enough _ alcohol.

Newt shoves his hand between them, fishes through the folds of the blanket spread across their laps before settling lightly on the hard ridge of flesh straining the front of Hermann’s trousers. Hermann exhales against his lips, breath warm and shaky. He feels the tips of his ears heat up, feels his face burning hot beneath his skin. Newton traces the shape of his erection, and Hermann swallows a pathetic moan. 

“If I would've known all it took was some trivia…” Newt teases, unzipping Hermann’s pants much too slowly for Hermann’s liking. While it was true that there had been a time, early on in their relationship, that the only way to coax Hermann into getting excited was to get him wound up talking about something (math or space, usually, which Newt delighted in tormenting him good-naturedly for), those days were long gone. 

“Need I remind you that your inability to keep your mouth shut-  _ oh _ .” 

Hermann tries with every fiber in his body to keep from making any obscene sounds, but finds very quickly that they slip from his parted lips of their own accord. He fights so very hard to remain dignified with the things that Newton does to him, but it is always a losing battle. Newton’s hand is warm and well-versed in the meticulous art of Giving Hermann Exactly What He Wants, and the mere anticipation of what is to come makes Hermann ache between his thighs. Newton gives him a single, excruciatingly slow pump before releasing Hermann in favor of pulling out his own dick, mostly hard as far as Hermann can tell in the lack of proper light. He takes initiative, wrapping his hand around Newton to stroke him lazily and resume kissing him near senseless. 

Newt does not seem to know where to put his hands, trying first to keep them on Hermann’s hips but unable to stop them from roaming up beneath his shirt, over his back, his chest. Hermann’s cock twitches insistently, throbbing where it brushes erect against his belly. He wants Newton so badly that it hurts. Newton groans softly into Hermann’s mouth, stoking a fire low in his stomach, blazing between his hips.

Newt works his hand between their bodies, sticking his tongue tentatively into Hermann’s mouth. The feeling of Newton’s tongue, warm and wet and slick, is enough to catch Hermann off guard. Newt takes the opportunity to wrap his hand around both of their erections, prompting a low groan from the back of Hermann’s throat. He is almost embarrassed, truthfully, at how badly he wants this, has always wanted this (perhaps not exactly in this scenario, but he has, of course, allowed himself the indulgence that only fantasy could have brought him), wants more with each passing stroke until the sheer size of his wanting makes him ache. Hermann can longer find the space in his mind to care who sees them, who catches muffled snippets of his shameful moaning. He is a black hole, opening himself, insatiable.

Hermann’s hips still, stuttering to a slow halt, and Newton’s eyes flutter open with some semblance of vague alarm, though still half-lidded with pleasure. His grip goes slack. “What's wrong, Herm? You okay? You wanna stop?”

“No, it's- It will make quite a mess, and I really am not too sold on the thought of cleaning semen from the backseat once we're through.”

“Fuck’s sake, Hermann, can you quit worrying for like five minutes? I’ve never met somebody who can still find something to fuss over while he’s getting jerked off.” Hermann wrinkles his nose delicately, feigning displeasure at Newton’s crude choice of words. Even so, Newt releases the both of them to pull his shirt over his head and toss it aside. He settles against Hermann, pressing himself close, and resumes stroking them both. “It’ll get on me, I'll make sure.”

“Are you- ah,  _ Newton-” _

“ _ Shh. _ ”

“Oh,  _ liebling.” _

Hermann thrusts his hips into Newton’s hand, lets his head loll back as he ruts helplessly against him. Newton's face crinkles, eyebrows twitching with the stab of pleasure that ripples through the both of them, a shared sensation. No longer to control himself enough to bother with keeping a steady pace ( _ Typical Newton, in a rush _ , Hermann thinks to himself, fuzzily), Newton jerks hard, slicking them with the precome that leaks steadily from both of their tips. Hermann is long past the point of attempting to mask his whimpers and moans, and he lets them tumble freely from his parted lips. He lets his eyes fall closed, unable to bother with the effort of keeping them open. Newt leans forward to kiss the corner of Hermann’s mouth, then his lips, nipping at him just hard enough to excite him without breaking the thin skin. 

He wants so badly to prolong the inevitable, to feel Newton’s hand on him for longer, but  _ Gott _ , he knows exactly the way Hermann likes to be touched. Newton squeezes his hand tightly around them, and sends constellations shooting out in all directions behind Hermann’s eyes. Hermann grunts into Newt’s mouth; his legs are trembling, his mind beginning to fog over. Their neural link pulls, a stretched muscle, a string about to snap. He thrusts forward, into Newton’s hand, against the throbbing length of his own cock. Newton grinds back against him, and the force of the pleasure that hits him is dizzying, crackling along every sensitive nerve ending. The line between his own pleasure, knotted and frenzied in his core, and Newton's is thin, wavering, nonexistent. He is himself and he is Newton and he is burning like some far-off star, white-hot and near to bursting. The muscles in his stomach clench tight, squeeze his insides, and he jerks forward. Hermann’s skinny arms lock instinctively around Newton’s neck, grounding himself, and he breaks the kiss to muffle a series of embarrassingly high, strangled whines against Newt’s sturdy shoulder. 

He comes in great big spurts, crying out and panting heavily, chest heaving with the exertion; and Newton follows quickly after with an unabashed shout, shuddering. True to Newt’s assurances, the hot, sticky majority of their mess ends up splashed across Newton’s colorful belly. They cling to each other through the jerking, twitching aftershocks, through the warm glow that follows. Hermann expects some exhausted wise-crack from Newton as their hearts begin their gradual return to reasonable resting rates, but receives instead a heavy, near-tangible silence that comes only with complete contentment. He tilts his head to rest their temples together, entirely spent, relishing in the love-drunk evening air and the distant dialogue floating in through the cracked car window.

**Author's Note:**

> title from the david bowie song of the same name, which i highly recommend. find me on twitter @kaijubf !!!!!


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